


The Journal

by Crazyhotsoup



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Early Days, Heavy Angst, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyhotsoup/pseuds/Crazyhotsoup
Summary: "Arthur didn't want to be there.He didn't want them reading his journal.He didn't want them to know.He didn't want them to call their damn intervention."
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	The Journal

**Author's Note:**

> Reader beware, there are some heavy thoughts in here. So don't read if you aren't up for some suicidal thoughts and shit like that. 
> 
> Fuuuuuuck okay this is just straight up vent. Ain't nothing in here that isn't pulled directly from my own life. So, yeah.

Arthur felt the deep, building nausea pool in his gut. 

Hosea had walked up behind him, and he hadn't heard the older man. He hadn't heard the damn man. 

Of course, it had to be one of his dark pages. One of the ones where he let every single doubt and thought and feeling pour out onto the page. It had been worse, of course. 

It had been his third draft of his suicide note. 

Arthur's eyes had widened and his hands had scrambled to cover the page. He turned and gaped up at the older man. Hosea's face said it all. He had seen it. He had read it. Arthur was found out. 

"Hosea let me-"

"Arthur," His voice was soft. "Arthur. Let me see your journal." Hosea's face was pulled into a concerned look. 

"Hosea, I ain't-" 

"Kiddo, we're gonna help you. We just need to see it." He deflated. He allowed Hosea to pull the journal out from underneath his hands and step into Dutch's tent. Arthur listened, stock still, as Hosea called softly for Dutch. 

He had never intended to act on the notion, but now? Now, he might just let them read it and disappear into the night. 

The nausea ebbed, leaving the door wide open for panic. He glanced around the camp. His things were still in his tent. If he was fast enough he could-

But they would track him. They would know how to find him. Dutch and Hosea had taught him everything he knew. 

His breathing quickened and he squinted into the slowly lowering sun. 

He could run. If he went fast enough, he could run. 

It would never work, he knew that. 

He could grab the gun from his tent and just get it over with, then and there. 

But he had always wanted to die somewhere beautiful, even though he didn't deserve beauty. 

That man at the saloon had offered him a place.

Dutch and Hosea would shoot the man dead. 

"Arthur," He flinched at the voice. It cut through his thoughts, dissolving them like sugar in water. "You need to calm down, son. Arthur. Arthur. Just breathe slowly."

He forced out a laugh and sucked in another ragged breath. His skin was aflame. His ribs were frozen, and locked his lungs in place. They burned with the air. Each inhale felt like fire. 

"Arthur, son, listen to me," Dutch lowered himself in front of him. "Kiddo, watch how I breathe. Do what I do." Dutch inhaled slowly, letting his chest expand with the air. Arthur nodded and tried to mimic the movement. 

Dutch exhaled. 

Arthur exhaled. 

Dutch inhaled. 

Arthur inhaled. 

Dutch exhaled. 

Arthur exhaled. 

"Better?" Dutch's words were uncharacteristically soft. Arthur glanced up at the older man and nodded. 

"Yes." Arthur's words came out weak. He glanced up at Hosea and shrank back inside himself. 

The older man was holding his journal. 

How they had time to read it all, he didn't know. 

"Arthur, everything you wrote in there, is that?" Dutch coughed and glanced up at Hosea. "Was that all really what you felt?" 

He stared into Dutch's eyes. 

A sob wracked his body and he dropped his face into his hands. 

Hot tears spilled through his fingers and snot began to build up in his nose. 

"Arthur, my boy, We all," Dutch's words caught for a moment as his voice broke. "We all feel those things. We all have those thoughts." 

"What the hell are you talking 'bout, Dutch?" He raised his head, a string of snot still connected to his hand. 

"Son, you ain't the only one to feel those things. You're just a kid. You're seventeen damn years old, and it ain't fair, but that don't make what you're feeling any less real."

Hosea sat down next to him, effectively trapping him in between them. 

Arthur didn't want to be there. 

He didn't want them reading his journal. 

He didn't want them to know. 

He didn't want them to call their damn intervention. 

They were better off without him. 

He was just a kid. 

A kid who could take care of himself, but a kid none the less. 

They didn't want someone like him hanging around. They just didn't know that yet. 

"Arthur, we ain't gonna abandon you. You're our son, and that means we're happy to help you. We're happy to get you feeling better." Dutch smiled at him, or tried to at least. 

"You just gotta let us, Kiddo." Hosea wrapped an arm around his shoulder. 

"Fuck, Hosea, it ain't that easy." He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 

"I know, but you gotta try. You gotta let us try too."


End file.
